


Southside Scumbags

by militantblackbabe



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Fluff, Gallavich, Illegal Activities, M/M, Sexual Tension, Swimming Pools
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-14
Updated: 2013-07-14
Packaged: 2017-12-20 04:13:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/882810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/militantblackbabe/pseuds/militantblackbabe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 3x03, Ian didn’t come home for dinner after Mickey beat the crap out of Ned. So what the heck did Ian and Mickey do all day?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Southside Scumbags

Ian didn’t want to go home. It had been hours since he and Mickey had run from the cops through alleyways on the north side. They had spent the time since just sort of wandering around, looking for crap to do. Ian was kind of having the time of his life, spending all this time with Mickey doing nothing together. Usually Mickey would have left by now to go take care of “business,” which, for a Milkovich, could mean anything from beating the shit out of some poor asshole who owed them money to taking a shit, but Mickey seemed even less interested in parting ways than Ian was.

Ian felt positively giddy.

“There’s something wrong with you, you know that?” Ian said, looking over at Mickey and trying not to smile. After scoring free hot dogs from some food cart hookup Mickey had, the sun was setting and they had ended up at the park. Mickey had wanted to come fuck with the geese, but they’d ended up just sitting in one of the stone shelters and working their way through a pack of smokes and playing ‘Who’d win in a fight?’ Ian was sitting on top of the picnic table, stretched out on his back with his arms pillowed underneath his head and replaying the scene of Mickey appearing outside the bar in his head for maybe the thousandth time since it happened. “You didn’t have to hit him so hard.”

“Fuck you,” Mickey said, only sparing Ian a short glance over his shoulder from where he was pacing, flicking out his knife over and over so that it plunged repeatedly into one of the wood panels. “He had it coming.”

“Why?” Ian said, not letting himself think before the words came out, because he knew if he did he probably wouldn’t say anything at all. “Because he dared to suggest that maybe you kinda like me?”

The air between them changed, became tense and heavy in a way that made Ian feel very aware of the fact that they were alone in this part of the park. He remembered the way it felt to touch Mickey in the alley earlier that day, quick fast touches that were charged in a way you wouldn’t even notice if you weren’t doing the touching or being touched – it would just look like two guys horsing around, but Ian felt what was unspoken between them every time Mickey’s fingers slid against his skin with a little too much intent, and he knew Mickey did too, even if he pretended not to. He was overcome with the strange urge to pick him up and throw him down, land on top of him and hold him there, underneath his body, the ground underneath him and Ian pressed tight above him, until Mickey had nowhere to look but at Ian, no where to move but into him.

Mickey was looking at him through narrowed eyes, then flicked his knife closed and pocketed it. He started to walk away and inclined his head for Ian to follow.

“C’mon,” Mickey said, and Ian knew he was going to do that thing where he pretended not to hear something really important that Ian had said, that had been really hard for him to say in the first place. Ian hated that. He’d rather Mickey make fun of him, or hit him even, than for him to just pretend that Ian had never even spoken. Mickey wouldn’t meet his eyes once he caught up to him, instead moving to wipe sweat from his face with the back of his arm.

“Where we going?” Ian said, trying not to let show how deflated he felt, how deflated he always felt when Mickey swam right past his bait.

“It’s hot as fuck out here,” Mickey said. “I need to cool down before I fucking lose it.”

-

Ian followed Mickey onto the L train; the ride lasted for longer than Ian expected, maybe a half hour or so. They sat next to each other in a mostly empty car and talked about Bruce Lee movies and Mike Tyson fights and Ian didn’t ask again where they were going or what they were going to do. He kind of liked not knowing and just following Mickey. It didn’t really make sense, and if anyone had asked Ian probably couldn’t even explain it, but it kind of made him feel like he was holding Mickey’s hand without physically doing it.

Jesus, he was getting pathetic, wasn’t he? Kinda like those guys in Victorian times who used to jerk off to accidentally seeing some chick’s wrist or ankles or some shit. Mickey was throwing him the barest of scraps, and not even intentionally at that; Ian had a horrible feeling that maybe everything he did that could be taken as affectionate and intentional was really just a coincidence, a breeze ruffling skirts and showing a bit of ankle while Ian just happened to be around. Unless Mickey meant for it to seem like that..

Ok, no. He wasn’t going to do this. He had to stop taking Mickey’s every action and holding it up to the light like trying to gauge the approximate value of a diamond. It was stupid and kind of embarrassing.

He followed Mickey off of the train and walked side by side with him. It wasn’t long before they ended up in the kind of neighborhood guys like them didn’t come to unless they were planning to rob someone. Ian felt like he was maybe going to get arrested just being there, but Mickey found a couple side streets and back ways and Ian followed until it was clear that they were approaching someone’s property from the back way.

“So this is what we’re doing? Trespassing? Then what, breaking and entering?” Ian shook his head and started to walk away, back in the direction of the train station. “Fuck no, fuck this, no way.“

He could hear Mickey’s aggravated groan and heard his footsteps as Mickey jogged over to him. Mickey grabbed him by the arm and Ian turned around. Mickey drew his hand back quickly, like if he did it fast enough Ian would forget that it had ever happened. Not a fucking chance. Ian tried not to smile when he looked at him; it was hard, even though he was still kind of annoyed that they came all the way out here for nothing.

“Look, don’t get your panties in a bunch, sweetheart. This place is completely empty. I do shit like this all the time.” Mickey turned around and started walking back toward the fence. “Just follow my lead, you fucking wuss.”

“I’m not a fucking wuss,” Ian said, walking behind him, and then smiled. “Sweetheart?”

Mickey’s aggravated groan made him want to dance.

“Shut up,” Mickey said, clearly annoyed. “Don’t you know a goddamn insult when you hear one?”

“You know, that’s funny. I never took you for the pet name type, but I think I like it.”

“Stop talking,” Mickey said. “All you do is talk. You’re such a fucking girl.”

Ian would not be so easily distracted. He knew what Mickey was trying to do and it wasn’t going to work.

“What should I start calling you then?” Ian said. “How do you feel about ‘baby,’ baby?”

They had made it back to the fence and Mickey turned and put a hand out in front of him, and Ian thought about how funny it was that every action Mickey took to try and repel him just made Ian want to get closer and closer.

“Don’t even start that shit, Gallagher,” Mickey said. Mickey was looking serious but Ian couldn’t wipe the smile off of his face. That only seemed to piss him off more. “You ever call me some shit like that and I promise you, no one will ever find your body.”

“I’m so scared,” Ian said. “No, that’s a lie. I actually get kinda tingly when you get all murder-y pitbull on me.”

Ian smirked, feeling bold and a little drunk off of the entire day they’d had together, and pushed Mickey’s arm away and grabbed his wrist. Yeah, he was definitely feeling kind of cocky, thinking of the way Mickey must have followed him right after their shift at work, must have watched him, his eyes on Ian’s body for his every movement, watching Ian through the glass windows of the bar and seething with jealousy because – what else could it be? Mickey wanted some to stake some kind of claim on him, right? And maybe it should have freaked him out or made him feel angry or violated, but maybe Ian was just a little bit fucked up because it just made him feel like his whole body was on fire and he wanted more than anything to see and know how Mickey’s face looked when he watched Ian. He wanted to watch Mickey watching him and feel the.. whatever it was that must have been there for him to lay into Ned like that, right there in the street.

“But we both know you ain’t gonna do shit, right?” Ian said, resisting the urge to grab Mickey and fuck him right there. He knew the grin on his face was infuriating to Mickey, and he knew maybe Mickey would have punched him if Ian hadn’t moved first and pushed him against the wooden slats of the fence, pressing close until their bodies were touching, pressing Mickey’s wrist into the wood, pressing, pressing, pressing his luck. He was going to press it even further when he leaned closer and caught a glimpse of what lay beyond the fence through a gap in the wood.

“Holy shit,” Ian said. Past a grassy area was the coolest swimming pool Ian had ever seen. It was surrounded by large brown rocks that made the whole thing look like a pond you’d find in the middle of the forest in a fantasy world somewhere. He could see from here that it was lit from beneath, the water shining and looking bathed in golden light. Mickey took advantage of his distraction and shook his hand free, pushing Ian away.

“Give me a boost,” he said, and Ian immediately held out his joined hands to help Mickey climb over the fence. Once he was over, Ian followed, taking it at a run and hoisting himself over. God, he loved when he got to show off the shit he could do because of ROTC in front of Mickey. On the other side of the fence Mickey was staring at him.

“Fucking show-off is what you are,” Mickey said. Ian sauntered up to him, and together they walked toward the pool, Mickey already pulling off his shirt.

“You sure we can swim here? We’re not gonna get caught?” Ian asked, still not quite believing it. The house was completely dark and it’s not like the houses here were all that close to each other, but still. This was the kind of place he saw in like, architecture magazines and sitcoms. If they got caught down here Ian didn’t want to think about what that would do to Mickey’s parole. He’d be damned if he let that happen while he was around.

“You see anyone else here?” Mickey said. He stripped off his pants, revealing a pair of threadbare boxer shorts. They were a shade of navy blue that was even richer in color against his pale skin. Ian tried not to stare and concentrated on listening instead. “I didn’t come all this way for the exercise.”

Mickey walked up to the water’s edge with surprising caution. Ian smiled and tore off his shirt, then said fuck it and got rid of all of his clothes. He did it quickly so that he could pad softly over to Mickey and give him one good shove. When Mickey surfaced, rubbing water out of his eyes and looking pissed, Ian couldn’t help but laugh.

“Laugh now, you piece of shit, but your ass is mine,” Mickey said, and even though he was threatening him, Ian could see the way he was checking out Ian’s naked body. When Mickey’s eyes finally made it back up to his face, Ian smiled.

“You wish,” he said, and jumped in.

-

It was different when they were underwater, Ian thought. Maybe the water was like another cover, like darkness, like closed doors, just something else to keep Mickey’s secret safe, so while they were under together he didn’t really fight as hard. He let Ian get close, let Ian catch him, and leaned into the touch whenever Ian’s hands slid across his body. They circled each other, Ian reaching until he caught Mickey’s waist. He bent his head to press a kiss to Mickey’s chest, letting his hands slide into the space where the bottoms of Mickey’s boxers were gaping, filled with water. When Ian squeezed, feeling like he could stay under forever if it meant he got to touch Mickey like this, squeezing his ass and pulling him closer, it took Mickey all of a few moments before he pulled away again, turning and swimming towards the surface.

-

They sat dripping wet, their feet dangling in the cool water. Ian wanted to point out how they could even see a few stars if they looked up, but he didn’t want to risk breaking the spell. Mickey was sitting next to him, looking content, like he was actually enjoying the comfortable silence between them and doing something that was honestly kind of date-like with Ian.

“So you do shit like this all time?” Ian asked. Mickey shrugged.

“I like thinking about how pissed off these rich assholes would get if they knew a southside scumbag like me was swimming in their precious pool,” Mickey said.

Ian laughed. He wanted to ask Mickey what else he thought about, what else he liked doing for strange, unique little reasons, but even to his own ears that sounded kinda girly. And besides, Ian supposed he kind of already knew. Probably without meaning to, Mickey had shared a lot about himself with Ian since they first started fucking – like the way, for like 12 weeks, Mickey would never meet up with Ian on Sunday nights unless it was after 9, because that was when his favorite show came on. One time Ian arranged for them to watch it alone at his house, during a rare moment when the house was empty (due in part to Ian paying off a few of his siblings and manipulating a lot of circumstances) and Mickey would have more than enough time to slip away before anyone got back. He sucked Mickey off during the commercial breaks, not letting him come until the show was over. Mickey’s cheeks had grown more and more flushed and he had gotten pissed enough to pull so hard at Ian’s hair that it kind of hurt (which, to be honest, kind of turned Ian on). When Ian finally let him come though he did so with the most delicious sound Ian had ever heard, and afterwards Mickey just sat there for a minute, breathing heavily and letting Ian nip at the insides of his thighs. Mickey even let Ian fuck him from the front, hurried and desperate, and Ian buried his face in Mickey’s neck and relished the feel of Mickey’s legs around him. That was how Ian found out that if you gave Mickey Milkovich multiple things he liked all at once (in this case, his favorite show, hummers, and, if Ian was being optimistic, Ian himself), he would sort of go kind of.. not soft, but kind of compliant, if in a bossy, slightly aggravated way.

Ian was willing to bet that not a lot of people knew that about Mickey. He smiled at the memory, and watched as Mickey twisted around, bending over to paw at his pants until he found the joint and his BIC lighter in the pile of fabric. Mickey’s boxers were soaked, clinging to his pale skin, and Ian caught sight of the outline of Mickey’s cock through the fabric and wondered what it’d be like to fuck in a pool. He’d never done it before. He wasn’t exactly sure how it’d work, but he sure as hell didn’t mind the thought of figuring it out with Mickey. But there was one thing that had been niggling at his mind like a parasite, and he knew he had to say something, even if Mickey got pissed and everything got ruined.

He watched as Mickey brought the fat joint to his lips, cupping his hands to light it. It wouldn’t catch, and Ian reached over and took the lighter from him. Mickey made an annoyed sound but he held still while Ian lit it for him, then snatched his lighter back.

“Is it really that bad?” Ian asked.

“’S what that bad?” Mickey said, voice strained because he was trying to keep in the smoke while talking. He finally exhaled, and Ian watched as Mickey tapped the ash into the water. He looked really focus on it, watching it float away, moving his foot just a little to create a current to carry it a little ways further. It was kind of a weird, random thing to be doing, but Ian just chalked it up to one of those rare Mickey things that he got to see that maybe no one else did, so he automatically liked it.

“The thought of being with me,” Ian answered, the words only barely squeezing past the sudden appearance of his heart in his throat. Mickey glanced up at him. Ian felt like his blood was going to rush out of his ears, and he tried to remind himself that he wasn’t being stupid, that this was the guy who followed him all the way to the north side and beat up the dude he was fucking and took him out for a swim afterwards – he had to fucking like him, right?

“You think too fucking much,” Mickey said finally, and passed the joint back to Ian before sliding back into the water.

He turned and swam away, disappearing underneath the surface of the water, and Ian took another pull and held it in for as long as he could before getting up. He walked to one of the larger rock formations, climbing to the top of it and lying down on his stomach. The breeze was starting to bite at his damp skin but he didn’t feel like swimming again just yet. He sat there smoking for a while longer, watching the outline of Mickey’s body in the water, one great slow-moving shadow, bathed in mystery and golden light and forever just out of his reach.

-

They had been swimming for a while now, Ian now challenging himself to see how long he could stay under. If he was being honest, he was kind of tired of it, but at the same time he didn’t want to leave. He liked hanging out here with Mickey, racing from one end of the water to the other and taking turns trying to drown each other. 

Ian broke the surface of the water and caught sight of Mickey at the shallow end of the pool, about to pull himself up and out. He thought ‘fuck it’ and lunged through the water toward him. When he reached Mickey he grabbed his sides and pulled him back into the water with a splash.

“What the fuck!” Mickey yelled, pushing at Ian. Ian trapped Mickey between his arms, the edge of the pool at Mickey’s back.

“It wouldn’t be that bad,” Ian said, and was proud of how strong his voice sounded, how calm, and not at all like he was so desperate to kiss Mickey that he kind of wanted to drown himself in this pool if he was never going to get to. He stared into Mickey’s eyes and told himself he wasn’t afraid. “Actually, I think you’d like it if you gave it a try.”

“Like what?” Mickey spat. Ian remembered the script – Mickey would pretend, Ian would pretend not to know that he was pretending. He was sick of it.

“Being with me,” Ian said. He was feeling spiteful, so he charged forward – “Getting to kiss me. You know, I’m good for more than just fucking, Mickey.”

Mickey was staring at him, and Ian was reminded of animals caught in traps, and he didn’t know if it turned him on or made him feel angry or guilty.

“Let me kiss you,” Ian said.

“Fuck off,” Mickey said, scowling, and all Ian could think about was what Mickey’s lips would taste like. Chlorine and cigarettes? Scowls and sex?

“Why not, Mick?” Ian said, and moved his face closer to Mickey’s. Mickey didn’t have any more space to back into. He could have pushed him though, or went under and around him. But he didn’t. He just stood there, looking right back at Ian, his hands still gripping Ian’s forearms where they had landed when he had tried to push Ian away. Maybe it was a little fucked up, but it gave him the confidence to keep going. “Afraid you’ll like it?”

A crash broke through the quiet of the night. They looked around wildly - in seconds it became clear that it was the sound of the back gate opening, as a man, probably some neighborhood watch asshole, wielding a flash light and a suspicious glare walked toward the pool. He caught sight of Mickey and Ian almost immediately.

“Who the fuck are you?” The man started jogging toward the pool.

“Shit,” Mickey breathed, pushing at Ian, and they both scrambled out of the water, trying to reach for their clothes and start running at the same time. The man was getting his phone out. Ian felt the urge to laugh, because he was naked and wouldn’t it be hilarious if, instead of the guy calling the cops, the guy just like took a picture of him or some weird shit like that, but then Mickey yelled “Go back to sleep you old fuck, this is all just a dream!” and Ian lost it. They ran from the scene, Ian just managing to pull his boxers on and laughing like mad. It was the second time that day they’d run from trouble together. Ian felt like maybe that was becoming his favorite thing to do with another person – well, with Mickey specifically.

They ran, laughing and half naked, through the streets. The cool night air whipped at their damp bodies. The only sounds were the beating of their feet on the pavement and their panting, which occasionally morphed into breathless laughter whenever they caught sight of each other. They didn’t stop running until they were in a neighborhood that was more like their own and the sound of sirens and the swinging beacons of police headlights were long gone.

“There’s something wrong with you, you know that?” Ian said again, but he couldn’t help smiling, even as he tried to catch his breath. They had slowed to a walking pace. The station that would take them back to their neck of the woods was just a couple blocks away.

“Fuck off, you had a good time, didn’t you?” Mickey said. His hair was still kinda wet and Ian wanted to run his hands through it. He settled for bumping Mickey’s shoulder with his. Mickey pushed him back, a little harder than necessary, probably because Milkoviches didn’t know any other way to respond to physical contact or affection. Ian reached into his pocket for his pack of cigarettes and shook one out onto his waiting palm.

“It wasn’t bad,” Ian said, shrugging and lighting it. His head was freezing, his hair still kind of wet, but it was a cold burn and it kind of fit the situation and just felt right, because every sharp breeze against his scalp reminded him of the night he was having and it made him smile to think of all of it: running from the cops, horsing around, being underwater with Mickey and getting to pull him closer than he ever had before.

“Whatever,” Mickey said, but he couldn’t quite wipe the grin off his face either, not all the way – Ian could see it hiding, right there on the edge of his words, even if maybe no one else would be able to pick up on it. Ian kind of figured there was a lot he knew and noticed about Mickey that other people didn’t get to.

“It’s not what I would have expected for a first date, but at least we didn’t get arrested,” Ian said, grinning. He held the cigarette out to Mickey.

“Fuck you.” Mickey snatched the cigarette from Ian’s hands and turned away as he brought it to his lips. “This wasn’t a date, Gallagher,” he said around the filter in his lips.

Ian watched him speed up and walk away. Ian was content to hang back and admire the curve of his shoulders and the way he walked, fucking everything about him, really, and grinned, feeling so ridiculously happy that he would have walked all the way back to the South Side if Mickey had agreed to do it with him. Ian finally jogged to catch up with Mickey, who had slowed his pace to examine some obnoxiously bright graffiti on a street sign. To Ian it just seemed like Mickey had been waiting for him to catch up. He grinned at Mickey, feeling a surge of happiness rise in his chest like a helium-filled balloon. Mickey rolled his eyes and together they made for the station.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a post on adinfinitum-sunflower’s tumblr.


End file.
